


there was a star danced

by orphan_account



Series: Chronicles of Westeros [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Chronicles of Narnia Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Multi, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyanna disappears. Ned follows her through the wardrobe.</p><p>(A <i>Chronicles of Narnia</i> fusion. With a hint of <i>Downton Abbey</i> thrown in for good measure.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	there was a star danced

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Much Ado About Nothing_ :
> 
> DON PEDRO  
> Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.  
> BEATRICE  
> No, sure, my lord, my mother cried. But then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

It begins, as most stories do, with Lyanna’s laughter.

She giggles all throughout Robert’s coronation, which isn’t surprising: even Ned has to admit that at least half the people currently thronging Westminster Abbey look ridiculous, with their ceremonial neck ruffs and feathered hats and actual ermine-trimmed capes. For all of Robert’s impassioned froth against those who accuse the British monarchy of being hopelessly obsolete, Ned privately thinks this archaic ceremony hands the argument to the accusers on an engraved silver platter.

Considering all the attention Lyanna draws in the form of disapproving stares, they’re lucky to be seated so far near the back of the church. They’re lucky to be present at all, really, as the children of a mere Earl from Yorkshire. To say nothing of their invitation to what Robert is calling his after-after-after-after-party, once every last bit of ceremony has been done away with and he’s free to celebrate his ascension to the throne “properly.”

As expected, “properly” means “with gambling, pretty women, and unlimited champagne.” Ned can hardly imagine what the legions of teary-eyed grandmothers who waved their hankies so vigorously this afternoon would think if they could see their king now. But maybe even they would be indulgent. The nation needed this, people keep saying. The nation needed a spectacle of ceremony and tradition and splendor and strength in order to put the Great War firmly behind them, to finally consign all that darkness and gloom to the inaccessible past. It’s a nice thought, Ned supposes, even if he doesn’t really feel it himself.

It’s late—judging by the ruddiness of Robert’s complexion and the loudness of his laughter—when Ned catches a glimpse of Lyanna slipping away through the crowd. He knows she’s up to no good as surely as he knows the sun rises in the east. Lyanna has always been an explorer, even—especially—when forbidden, and Ned can’t think of many places more off-limits than the nooks and crannies of Buckingham Palace. He hands his half-drank glass to Brandon and follows.

She’s only a flash of dark hair disappearing around a corner in the corridor; in the stairwell she is the sound of quick light footsteps up above. By the next corridor Ned has caught up enough to open a door less than thirty seconds after she’s closed it.

“Ned!” Lyanna exclaims. He knows her well enough to instantly pick out the different tones coloring her voice: surprise, guilt, and—of course—laughter.

“Have you been looking for me?” she says.

Ned opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again. Lyanna seems—oddly out-of-breath, now that he looks at her closely. Her cheeks are flushed, too, although he supposes that could be from drink. That wouldn’t explain the mud on her shoes, or—is that a leaf in her hair?

He’s been keeping one eye on her all night, and she hasn’t been outside in hours. Perhaps he’s had more to drink than he thought.

“How long have I been missing?” Lyanna asks.

She shuts the door of a small wardrobe, barely taller than she is, and steps towards him. For a split second he wonders whether she’s taken something from it or hidden something inside, but none of that makes any sense. She wasn’t carrying anything before and she isn’t now, and he knows for a fact this is the first time she’s ever been inside the palace. It’s her habit to peer into every last drawer and cabinet as part of one of her “explorations,” anyhow.

“How long?” he repeats. “Lyanna, I followed you here from the party. You shouldn’t be wandering around like this. I wouldn’t put it past the King’s Guard to hang you for treason.”

She laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry. Our new king is massively in love with me. I can do what I want.”

“Lyanna,” he says, a note of warning.

She’s not wrong, necessarily. He’s seen the way Robert looks at his sister. The days of kings marrying foreign princesses to cement alliances do seem to be past. But Lyanna is only recently sixteen, anyway; she hasn’t even made her formal debut.

“Have I really been gone only a moment?”

Ned barely resists rolling his eyes as he ushers her out the door. “No more champagne for you, I think.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“As you’ve told me many times.”

“Yes, but I never _mean_ it.” She reaches out to squeeze his hand. “Now come, Richard Horpe promised to teach me roulette.”


End file.
